The Christmas Clock and A Song For My Mother - Kat Martin Page 0,55
and Virgil and his crew came to the rescue.” She smiled recalling that day and the handsome man who had swept into her bedroom, broken out the window, and helped her climb to safety. “I fell in love with him right then and there,” she said, “and he must have taken a fancy to me, too because a year later, we were married.”
Katie stood the framed photo up on the table so she could still see it. “Then Mom was born.”
“That's right. It didn't happen right away but a few years after we took our vows, your mother was born and Virgil was so happy. He was a good husband back then.”
“Mom says he hit you.”
Her chest clamped down. She didn't want to say bad things about Virgil even after all these years. But she wasn't going to lie for him, either.
“Something happened at work. Your grandpa started drinking. He didn't do it that often but when he did, he got real mean.”
“What happened at work?” Katie asked, the apple in her hand long forgotten.
“There was a fire down at Tremont’s Antiques. Old Mrs. Tremont was caught upstairs in the third-floor attic. She was too old to jump out the window, so your grandpa went inside to save her. Only thing was, the fire got worse and the attic floor gave way and poor old Mrs. Tremont fell through and got killed.”
“But Grandpa got out?”
“Yes, he did, but he was hurt real bad. Your mama was about your age at the time but I don't think she ever really understood how badly her dad was injured. He had burns on his back and his legs. He never wore a pair of shorts or went without a shirt again.”
“Was that the reason he got mean? Because he got hurt in the fire?”
“I suppose it was. After that day, Virgil was never the same. He was always taking something for the pain but the real damage was in his head. He never forgave himself for failing that old woman. He blamed himself and he believed the other firemen blamed him, too.”
“Did they?”
“I don't think so. It was just something that got stuck in his brain.”
A noise sounded in the doorway. Winnie looked up to see Marly standing at the entrance to the porch. “A lot of people get hurt, Mother. It doesn't turn them into wife beaters.”
“I don't suppose it does. But I couldn't leave him then . . . not when he was hurt.”
“What about later? When he got worse? What about after he knocked you down and cracked your ribs? What about when he shoved you so hard you fell and broke your leg?”
Winnie squeezed her eyes closed, fighting not to remember. “There were things about your father... things no one knew but me. I knew how much he needed me. I—”
“I needed you, Mother. I was your daughter. I hated the way he treated you. I hated the fear we both felt whenever he came home drunk. I hated that there was nothing I could do to protect you.”
But her brave daughter had tried. She had wound up with a black eye for her trouble and had to stay home from school. She had been too embarrassed to tell anyone what had happened.
Winnie had left him then, packed a couple of suitcases, and moved with Marly into a motel on the other side of the county.
But Virgil had found out where she was staying. He had come to the motel room, stood at the door and cried. He had begged her to forgive him, begged her to come back home. Winnie had never seen him cry, not ever, not even after the fire when he had suffered such incredible pain. Virgil swore he would never lay a hand on Marly again and he never broke his word.
Instead, he managed to take out his hostility on his wife, mostly when Marly wasn't home.
“I know the way you felt, dearest, but—”
Marly threw up her hands and walked back inside the house.
Katie didn't say a word, just focused her attention on peeling the apple in her hand.
Winnie sighed. Maybe she shouldn't have said anything. Clearly, Marly hadn't told Katie much about Virgil, aside from what a terrible man he was.
But he hadn't always been that way and those early years when they were together were what kept Winnie from leaving her husband when Marly had begged her to escape.